


There is no one I'd rather be, than me

by Kisleth



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Gen, Post-Avengers, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-20
Updated: 2012-11-20
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:47:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/568207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisleth/pseuds/Kisleth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint is an archer and that is good... until he makes a mistake.</p><p>Inspired by this post: http://flatbear.tumblr.com/post/36115393381</p>
            </blockquote>





	There is no one I'd rather be, than me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [flatbear](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=flatbear).



> Warning: The self harm is mostly Clint practicing without an arm guard or his glove for hours and hours, but he is doing it on purpose to make himself hurt.

"I am an archer and that is good." Clint murmurs to himself, pulling back the string to his bow. His eyes are closed and the listens to the sounds in the still room. The creak of the draw, the pound of his heart, the soft rush of his breath. He inhales, he exhales, he releases the arrow. "I am an archer and that is good." He reminds himself as the string chafes at his fingers and snaps against his forearm.

He missed a shot today.

He won't stop practicing tonight.

He runs out of arrows. He opens his eyes and some are off. Faintly, scant centimeters. It's still not good enough. He doesn't care that he's been at this for six hours. He has to be perfect. He's worthless if he isn't perfect. He missed today. He took a shot and it didn't kill his target and they killed so many agents...

"I am an archer and that is go—" he chokes and can't finish the word. It's not good. He isn't good. He's shaking so hard that he nearly drops his bow. He can hear his teammates degrading him. He listens to their voice so often that he can construct rants of disappoint and hate toward himself in anyone's voice. He can use his team to beat himself down and down and down.

Names echo in his mind, insults to the lilt of his teammates voices. His eyes are burning as he yanks the arrows from the target. He marches back to his shooting point, roughing scrubbing the tears from his eyes. He settles into his stance, raises the bow, nocks the arrow, draws... inhale... exhales...

"You failed me." The string snaps from his fingers, tearing at the callous as it hits the meat of his forearm and turns a mass of welts and bruises into broken skin. Clint whirls around, the bow clattering to the floor.

His heart rackets in his ears as he searches frantically for the owner of that voice, as he searches for Phil. But there is no Phil. As he missed today and cost several agents' lives, he was too late then and didn't stop Loki. He was possessed by Loki, and the fall of SHIELD and the Helicarrier—however temporary—was his fault.

"Sorry," Clint chokes as he presses the heels of his palms to his aching eye sockets. "Fuck, I'm so sorry, Phil." He knows this is his fault. He knows it. "I will never be a super-soldier." Maybe he would have resisted then. Maybe he would have been able to say no and escaped and protected Phil and not failed, failed, failed.

But what if he had been a super something and Loki used that too. "I will never be a super-soldier... and that is not... bad." Revise. Breathe. Recalculate. Clint picks up the bow and continues to shoot, to practice. Again and again. He shoots until he's aching, until his fingers are bleeding, until the welt and bruises give way to cuts.

And then he bandages himself and continues.

He stops around four in the morning. His legs are shaking from pain and exhaustion. He's bled through his bandages and can't feel his hands or arms. His mind is almost as numb. His fingers are swollen and so are his eyes. He watches himself in the mirror and loathes himself more than he did that morning.

He wouldn't want to wish his life on anyone else. "There is no one I'd rather be, than me."


End file.
